Corona Daily 405: Wearing a Face Mask

Until March this year, I had never worn a face mask. When I lived and worked in Russia, temperatures would reach minus forty in January. Outdoors; my head, ears and neck were covered, but the nose and mouth were free to breathe and speak.

When India went into lockdown, I tried a handkerchief first. I had read about the mask shortages in the USA. What chance did India have to cover 1.4 billion faces?

I was wrong. In Mumbai (Because of the lockdown,  I can share my firsthand perspective only about Mumbai), masks have been available in plenty. At the chemist, online from Amazon, on the streets. For low-technology or no-technology products, India is a true champ. A rectangular piece of cloth with a couple of strings is all it takes to make sure a policeman or an activist will not stop you on the road.

*****

I remember in the first week everyone pulled the mask down to the chin to talk. When buying groceries, a customer and a seller would both pull it down during the transaction. A busy grocer simply kept it on the chin. It took about two weeks for people to figure out you could talk through the mask.

The N95 mask guarantees 95% filtering of airborne particles, provided it is properly fit, and worn on and taken off with great care. That research put me off. I would have considered a “N100 mask”, but it doesn’t exist. I wear a simple cloth mask.

Masks have seriously affected human interaction. People continue to smile inside the mask, but a smile can’t be heard like a laugh. If you are observant you can occasionally deduce a smile when the eyes crinkle.

My communication is affected in a major way. Last Sunday, with a slight relaxation in lockdown rules, I drove to the south of Mumbai. Two moustachioed inspectors were guarding the Gateway of India. I began walking towards it, as if the world was normal. One policeman charged towards me with his baton.

I drew his attention to the board at the barricade. In big letters, it said WELCOME. The policeman didn’t understand the joke (a) because his ability to appreciate humour was limited and (b) because I was wearing a mask.

Depending on the listener, I crack jokes with a smiling face or a straight face. Now my humour is no longer selling. When we talk, our words are accompanied by facial expressions. (That’s why the virtual world had to invent emojis). We judge the emotions of the people by their face, not only by their words.   

I now feel more sympathetic to the Burqa-clad Muslim women who must communicate without any facial expression.

*****

Since April, I have said hello or waved to dozens of people with little idea who they were. On Sunday, during my long run, a cyclist wearing a helmet, sunglasses and mask passed by me, calling me by my first name. I am still trying to figure out who that girl was.

People in Mumbai have mostly accepted mask-wearing as the new norm. Last week, I saw on two occasions men pulling their masks down to spit on the road. At least in some respects, life is returning to normal.

Ravi